


Black, White, Red

by MistressKat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Community: evilsam_spn, Drabble Sequence, Episode: s03e16 No Rest for the Wicked, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sam wakes up in the point zero of unspeakable loss.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black, White, Red

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Lost Months](http://community.livejournal.com/evilsam_spn/54352.html) meme over at [evilsam_spn](http://community.livejournal.com/evilsam_spn/).
> 
> Story is now available in Russian [here](http://eva-lain.livejournal.com/3331.html) \- translated by [eva_lain](http://eva-lain.livejournal.com).

**Black**

Sam wakes up in the point zero of unspeakable loss. His eyelashes are glued together with soot, his palms raw and blistered. The power is still rolling under his skin in waves.

Everything is black and charred; trees and cars and porch swings, rivers of pitch where the roads used to be. The skeletons of houses stand like soldiers in a battlefield; already dead but refusing to fall.

Beside him, Dean lies whole and untouched as if sleeping. Sam picks him up and starts walking.

There are bodies amongst the wreckage, burned beyond recognition. Sam passes them without a glance.

 

 

*******

 

**White**

Winter is thick on the ground when Sam wades into the field. All he needs is privacy and some time; the location doesn’t matter. Hell is everywhere.

Sam sees it everyday in the pale unmoving features of his brother, the fragile transparency of his skin.

He is making a doorway of bone and blood, forcing his way in with stone symbols and sulphur and grief sharper than the knife in his hand.

Dean is not dead. Dean is not alive. Sam is whatever he needs to be.

There is no pain, only relief. Around them the snow turns rapidly pink.

 

*******

**   
**

 

**Red **

Hell is grey and dizzying like sleet in the Impala’s headlights, full of shapes that twist and tear.

Amidst the shifting shadows Sam _burns_, like a beacon in fathomless night. No one can touch him, no _thing_ can stand in his way. His blood cuts a path like a scythe, streaming down his face and arms in crimson rain.

It’s the price of love; humanity bleeding away drop by drop.

Sam hears Dean’s heart clearer than his own now, feels the beat of it in his chest. Ahead there’s a fire that matches his, a soul big enough for two.  
 


End file.
